Popsicles for Breakfast

Only when you've been up all night with a sore throat and fever you caught from Daddy, are you EVER allowed to have a popsicle for breakfast in my house.

Becoming Like Grandma

After a 3 month silence, I have returned to you.  When I write these posts, I envision us all gathered round in a circle, sitting in the grass, with a forest behind us, warm cups of coffee or tea in our hands, like some sort of hippy gathering, as we share our stories.  I guess I had to get up and leave the circle for a while.  I needed time to grieve the passing of my grandmother.  This is the first truly painful loss I've ever experienced, and I'm learning that I handle grief with silence.

Grandma was.....

well, nothing I could say could sum it up or feel right to me.  Furthermore, to write a tribute to her would be to say that she is gone.  It would feel like I am trying to tie up something that is not finished.  I do believe she is still alive, just on the other side of a great curtain and that I will see her again one day.  So instead of writing one big epic post about how much she means to me, (because she means a great deal) perhaps her influence and memories will appear occasionally in my writings for the rest of my life.

Like me, Grandma was a homemaker.  Perhaps it is because she made this lifestyle look so desirable that I chose this path.

Homemaking covers many topics.  We could discuss so many things.  We could discuss our move into a house with a yard and a fence and all the joys of building my new nest.  But we'll save that for another day.  Today I want to talk about motherhood again.

It's really no surprise to me that the topic breaking my silence is the topic of motherhood.  Truly, it is currently my favorite subject.  It consumes nearly every waking minute of my life right now and I'm even on duty in my sleep!  A nine month old is an all consuming joy.

Yesterday a friend wrote and reminded me that it is OK to admit that motherhood is hard.  I needed to be reminded.

I knew this in the beginning when my baby was a newborn.  It's just so obvious how hard it is and most people don't try to do more than is reasonable at that point.  We are all given a pass when the baby is only two weeks old.  It's later, when things get a little easier and our capacity increases, and we get carried away and then crash and then feel lost because we no longer have any idea where our new limitations are.

I'm in that stage where my baby is sleeping a little longer and I'm finally getting a decent night's sleep.  (Not an amazing night's sleep, but a decent night's sleep.)  I assumed this meant I would immediately start feeling better and well rested for the first time in ten months.  Not the case!  Apparently one or two normal nights of sleep is not enough to heal ten months of sleep deprivation.  No, it actually is making me feel worse for a little while, my body craving MORE, MORE, MORE.  In a way, it was easier to run on insufficient sleep.  The body simply shuts down the call for sleep and functions without it for a season.  Reawaken that beast and watch out! 

I've never heard mothers talk about this stage, but apparently I'm in a season of recovery and it doesn't happen overnight.

To make it more complicated, sometime in the past month I was bit by the bug that says I need to accomplish MORE than simply raising a child.  What a joy killer.  To raise a child is an all-consuming task. Joyful, yet all consuming.  I know it is all consuming and yet I have to be reminded.  Why do I quickly forget?

Maybe every mother has a tendency to forget?  Maybe all Americans try to see how much they can accomplish?  Like it's a badge of our value as humans?  Is this why people keep passing me in the street saying, "they grow up so fast!  Enjoy it!"  As well-meaning as this is, I wish they would stop.  I am keenly aware that Samantha is growing fast and soon she will grow up and be gone.  It's a painful thought.  If I think about it too much, it will ruin the beauty of the moment.  Trying too hard to enjoy something can, in itself, rob any possibility of enjoying it.  On the other hand, by not trying hard enough, we can also miss enjoyment, so I can't fault those ladies for their mantra.  It's just that I'm the mother who needs to be reminded that she will be a BETTER MOTHER if she spends time away from her baby occasionally.  I'm the one wanting to spend every minute with her, kissing her and enjoying her, not wanting to miss a minute of her short time with me, but at the same time CRAVING, NEEDING time alone and having a hard time taking it.  The one exception is when she is with her Daddy.  I have no problem walking away and not looking back and not thinking about her when I leave her with him.  I am at complete peace in those times because I know she is having a blast and he is having a blast and he and I are so bonded, when she is with him, I feel she is still with me.  Anyone who has a marriage like this is blessed.  But I digress.  The point is, I need to take time away from my greatest joy occasionally, so I can continue to enjoy her.

It's ok to say that motherhood is hard. It's even good and necessary to admit it.  But it's way more fun to talk about how amazing and wonderful motherhood is.  The joy makes all the hard worth it.  At 9 months old, it's just now getting really fun.  It has been fun, but it's getting even more fun.  Like sitting on the kitchen floor together every morning, sharing a bowl of oatmeal from the same spoon.  Or popping bubbles in the kiddie pool out back.  Or listening to Hakuna Matata from the Lion King seven times in a row just so we can bop our heads and hands to the music.  These things are the heart of homemaking.  We stay home so we can do these things together.  That is what Grandma taught me.

Yesterday my Mom asked if I remembered the time we visited the Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream factory... the time we all nearly wet our pants laughing because Grandma got slobbered on by a cow as she tried to help us kids feed the cows in the Ben and Jerry's pasture.  The amazing bit is that she hated all things farm related.  She grew up on a farm and wanted nothing to do with it.  Yet she did it for us.  She was always a good sport.  Willing, in her 60's to ride a thrill ride with me, a 10 year old, when the circus came to town.  Speaking of the circus, she always made sure my sister and I each got our OWN cotton candy when she was buying.  An incredible luxury.  But again, I digress.  I only vaguely remember the incident at Ben and Jerry's, but it illustrates what I do remember about her.  She was always on the floor with us, doing things in our world on our level, yet at the same time, raising us up, inspiring us to join her on her level, in her world.  Come to think of it, isn't that what Christ did for us on the cross and the Holy Spirit continues to do for us every day.  He comes down to our level and enters our world to raise us up with Him to Divine Glory. 

Whether Grandma knew it or not, she was imitating Christ for us.  And this is the heart of homemaking; to imitate Christ every day.  Many of us have heard this over and over in Sunday school;  the goal in every area of life is to imitate Christ.  Yet Grandma made it look like a joy instead of a burden.  She did it without broadcasting that this was the purpose of her actions.  Indeed, it is only dawning on me now how successful she was at things others read book after book and blog after blog, seeking to become.  Perhaps, sometimes, in trying too hard, we miss the whole thing.  She wasn't into reading Christian self-help books.  For her, simply presenting a sincere heart, a willingness to serve and a humble spirit, was enough to make her legendary in the eyes of all who knew her.

I seek to be like her, even now, when she is no longer a phone call away, but separated from me by a Holy curtain.  I hope to see her again one day.  In the meantime, I will continue to eat oatmeal on the kitchen floor with my daughter, like she would have done.

Keeping Watch

I am currently weaning Samantha from the need to have me nearby as she goes to sleep.  Some days she needs physical contact to get to sleep, some days she just needs to peek up at me occasionally and know that I'm still there, watching over her.  At other times, all she needs is a kiss goodbye and she's content to drift off all alone in her room, fiddling with her pacifiers and birdie.  And then there are the days when nothing satisfies and she has to cry herself to sleep no matter what I do.

Today all she needed was to peek up at me occasionally to know that I was still there.  As I leaned over her crib a few minutes ago, waiting and watching, my mind wandered back to my own childhood.  I distinctly remember the warmth of knowing that as I went to sleep, there were lights on somewhere in the house and Mom was up doing things.  I relied on that comfort into my teens.  Now, at 34, I can't get to sleep unless I'm the last one to go to bed.  As much as I've tried, and no matter how tired I am, I can't get to sleep if I know my husband will be coming to bed later.  The knowledge that everything is not settled down for the night around me, the anticipation that something will be bustling about nearby, keeps me awake.

It made me wonder... when did I change?  When did I go from being the child that needed to know someone was still awake in the house keeping watch, to the adult who can't go to sleep if others are still up?  The mother who now keeps watch as her own little girl drifts off to sleep, comforted by my wakeful presence.

Deperate for Air

It's been six months and twelve days since Samantha was born.  In the last three weeks it has begun to seem as though the hardest part of motherhood is finally behind me.  I know that will probably change.  Another tough season will come.  But for now, she is sleeping a bit longer which means I'm getting enough sleep so I no longer hit a wall every 10 minutes, feeling like I've reached the end of my capacity.  I'm breathing again.  A little bit deeper every day.

But it's still tough.  I was reminded just how tough yesterday morning as I picked up a new book written for Moms.  You know you're still in the thick of it when the first few lines of the introduction have the power to make you well up with tears, relieved and grateful that someone else knows just exactly how you feel.

"I can't be a mother today, Lord, I'm just too tired," Sarah Mae recounted of her own feelings as a young Mom.  It's those first two words that got me.  "I can't."  The exact words I battle every few days.  I counter back with "I can. And I will," based on a phrase in II Timothy that tells me "God has not given me a spirit of timidity, but of power."  I'm battling and having success, but the battle itself can be tiring at times.

As I read Sarah Mae's words, I breathed the fresh air of another woman's understanding and I looked over at my baby and wondered how this small, sweet bundle of joy, deep in peaceful sleep, could cause these tears. 

How could her presence cause me to pick up a book called Desperate?

I suppose it is the very fact of her incredible sweetness and utter vulnerability that makes me desperate to do the best job caring for her.

I am reminded of a pivotal day in February, when she was only two months old and I wasn't getting enough sleep and I realized on an new, important and deep level that I needed the air and the food of God to make it through one more day as a mother.  For several weeks, I kept running into a wall, reaching the end of myself and getting angry.  I have never experienced anything more peculiar than the type of anger that rises up in me when I am pushed to the end of myself and am still being asked for more...  when I realize more is needed and WANT to give it!... but just have no more to give?  That is the most bizarre feeling I have ever felt.  Nothing in my life before has ever brought me to the true end of my own energy and pushed me for more.  Not like this.  I felt exhausted, claustrophobic, boxed in.  My husband endured several emotional meltdowns as I reached that wall over and over and every time sat down in despair and didn't know what to do. 

I kept turning to food and sleep and a one hour break from the baby while he took a turn watching her.  These things helped a little, but they were not enough.  It was not until I remembered that "Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word which proceeds from the mouth of God," that I was truly rescued.  Instead of taking a bath with the hour my husband gave me, I sat and read bits of Psalms and Proverbs and Philippians.  I drank and ate every word, transformed in 10 minutes from a woman who wasn't going to make it through one more day, to a woman who felt revived, happy and eager to go find her baby and kiss her again.  I had pushed through the wall and found the other side; the place where there is an endless supply of energy to do whatever is needed.

Southern Appalachia Homemaker

Last time we talked, Samantha and I were spending the day outside.  We are outside again today, but in a very different location.  A few days after my last post, I learned that Chris' company was asking us to move to Birmingham, Alabama.  Four weeks later, we are here, fully re-located in temporary housing while we house hunt.  A shock?  Maybe.  But I've come to expect sudden change.  Life can change in the blink of an eye, all of our plans re-arranged.  It's a lot more enjoyable to ride the wave than to fight it when it happens.

"The mind of a man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps."  Proverbs 16:9

We still intend to buy a house, as planned, but instead of on a lake a mile down the road, we are now looking for a house in the southern Appalachian mountains of northern Alabama.  Without fail, God's re-directions are far more delightful than our plans, for those who have eyes to see.  I've always wanted to live in the Appalachian Mountains, but didn't think it was possible with Chris' job.  I was born in South Western Virginia, right in the middle of the Appalachian chain.  When I think about returning, I think of Virginia or North Carolina.  I've never been to Alabama until now and had no idea that the Appalachian chain extended this far south.  What an amazing surprise!  After only a few days, I already feel more at home here than any other place I've lived since getting married and following my husband on the job trail.  Colorado, Florida, Switzerland, they were all wonderful adventures, but this?  This feels like home.  This is where I belong.  At least for now.  Only God could coordinate my husband's job and my ideal location to be in the same place.

As I write to you now, we're on the back patio and my baby sleeps in a pink stroller next to me and I look out over my laptop at the small woods behind our apartment that rest on a hill and separate our apartment buildings from another set of apartment buildings.  A breeze grazes us and I breathe fresh mountain air, daydreaming about what the rest of our new life in Alabama will bring.

The Best Things Found are Free

As mothers, I think most of us are looking for rhythms and routines to order our days. We crave flexible schedules to help us anticipate what is going to happen next. There is so much that is new and unsettling and unpredictable about life with a baby. Whether you are a rigid schedule maker or a loose schedule maker, we are all looking for stability and comfort from the routines and rhythms we create and find.  And most of us find ourselves in a constant state of tweaking and experimenting to perfect these daily schedules.

I am no exception.  In the past, I tended to seek constant variety with little repetition.  Life with a baby has found me groping for more consistency and evaluating everything I do more closely now that I have someone else to consider, not just myself.

On this intoxicatingly delicious Spring day in Virginia, as I strolled down the street, meandering away from my in-laws brick two story, wearing my baby in a front carrier, I was reminded how much happier and healthier I am when I'm outdoors.  My baby is happier and healthier too.  She sleeps better and eats better outside in the fresh air.  I resolved, today, to spend at least a few minutes every day outdoors with my child from now on, closer to the rhythms of nature.  This is, after all, one of the best ways to live the theme I already chose for raising this particular little girl.  When she was in the womb, I sang to her every day.  I sang various songs befitting the mood of the day, but there was one song I sang every day, a little didly I made up, adapted from a song I learned as a child, and it goes like this,

"Samantha, Samantha, look round and you will see,

God's treasure is everywhere,

the best things found are free."

I do love buying toys and new props for her education at each stage of development.  But my fondest wish is that her favorite toys will be the ones she discovers outdoors in God's great big beautiful creation.  Today I am reminded that I want to start cultivating this love in her now, even at four months old.  The weather does not always make it easy to be outside all day long, but on a day like today, it would be a great misfortune to be indoors.  So we're not.  Today, Samantha and I are eating and sleeping and playing outside all day long.

More Revelations from Samantha Grace

As I said, there were three particularly poignant moments in the first three months with my new baby.  The second two were revelations that hit me during conversations with her as she and I played together.

One day, as I cuddled her, I said, "Samantha, do you know your Daddy loves you?  Even though he is not around as much as I am, he loves you just as much as I do."  As those words left my mouth, it dawned on me that this is similar to the Holy Spirit telling us that the Father loves us just as much as the Spirit does.  The Spirit is WITH us, as our helper and our comforter.  The Father is in heaven preparing a place for us.

Samantha's Daddy works hard, preparing a place for her.  Which leads me to another topic... in a few months, if all goes according to plan, you will see photos of our new house, a house just down the road by the lake, a beautiful location to raise a beautiful daughter.  We plan to move in May.


The second revelation came as I played with Samantha on the bed a few days later.  I was overtaken by how wonderful she was and said, "Oh Samantha, you are SO cute and SO sweet, I can hardly bear it.  My heart can't take it.  My heart is aching from just looking at you.
That's when it hit me.  I gasped and exclaimed to her, "Samantha, if God is MORE sweet and MORE perfect than you, then NO WONDER no one can bear to look at Him!"

I've always wondered why people in the Old Testament kept dying just from catching a glimpse of God.  He was too Holy to look at?  I didn't understand it.

Now I think maybe I understand it at least a tiny bit better.